


time is running out.

by MercutioLives



Series: Becommissar Week 2k16 [2]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, First Time, Online Friendship, POV Alternating, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6662515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercutioLives/pseuds/MercutioLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate timers are all the rage, so Beca Mitchell decided to blow $200 to get one. Too bad it's broken. (Becommissar Week, Day 2: Soulmate Countdown Clocks)</p>
            </blockquote>





	time is running out.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is getting to be a problem with the "posting as soon as the day changes" thing. This one is much longer than the first, and I was a bit more daring than before, meaning I wrote some porn. Oops.
> 
> Crossposted to my personal [Tumblr](http://jacklaurens.tumblr.com/post/143412607650/time-is-running-out). (Also check out the [mock Tumblr headers](http://jacklaurens.tumblr.com/post/143412647900/mock-tumblrs-to-go-with-my-becommissar-week-day-2) I did.)

**00:00**

Beca looked down at the timer on her right wrist. It was flashing all-zeroes, like a clock radio after a power outage. The numbers, squared off, looked like empty boxes with diagonal slashes through them. Her throat went dry, her stomach clenched, and she felt cold, clammy sweat breaking out across the back of her neck. Was it broken? That was just her luck, if it was.

"Um, excuse me?" The red-haired attendant who had installed the timer turned to face her, all smiles and good customer service. Her name badge, shaped like a heart, said that her name was CHLOE. Somehow, Beca thought that fit. She looked like a Chloe.

"Yes, ma'am?" Chloe's voice was way too chipper, and for a second Beca wanted to punch her for it, but instead she sat up in the chair and extended her arm to show the redhead her wrist.

"Why's it all zeroes like that? Shouldn't it, I dunno, have numbers on it? Like, isn't that kind of the point?" Chloe scuttled over to peer at the timer, bending over Beca's arm until her nose was practically touching the skin. Hadn't this girl ever heard of personal space? When she raised her head again, she did so so quickly that she nearly bashed Beca in the face - only narrowly avoiding doing so because Beca moved first.

"Well, there could be a few reasons for this! The first is that you've already _met_ your soulmate prior to receiving your timer. If that's the case, when the two timers are within a five-foot radius, they'll chime!" She grinned and clapped her hands together, as if excited by the prospect.

"Yeah, and the second?"

"The second is that your soulmate doesn't have a timer yet. Once they get one, the timer will start automatically. So I wouldn't worry about it, either way. Hundreds of people have timers installed daily in North America alone - or is it thousands? Whatever. It's a lot of people, and the numbers are growing constantly. Don't forget to come back and register once you've found your special someone, so you can enter a sweepstakes for an all-expenses-paid couple's getaway to Barbados!" Beca lifted an eyebrow and wriggled herself from the too-tall chair; she glanced again at her blinking timer. _This was a waste of $200,_ she thought bitterly as she left the store.

 

**\--:--**

Sweat trickled down Luisa's back as she finished up her pull-ups, completing her workout for the day. She tugged her earbuds out, stopped her playlist, and got on the bike for her cooldown. Every muscle in her body burned deliciously with lactic acid, and by the time she was ready to go home, she felt the high of a job well done. The blast of winter air outside after the close heat of the box was jarring, but refreshing, and she was glad she decided to bike rather than take the bus. Her apartment wasn't far from the gym, anyway. Glancing down at her phone, she saw a Snapchat notification from Pieter: a photo of his wrist with a soulmate timer that wasn't there when she left the apartment this morning. It was captioned with a heart-eyes emoji and nothing else. Luisa rolled her eyes; she didn't see the point in those timers. Why would someone limit themselves like that?

She biked the few blocks from the box back home, and indulged herself with a nice, hot shower. Pieter would be at work by now, and on a normal day she'd have been getting ready as well, but she finally managed to secure a day off from the hardass she called a boss. She still wasn't sure how _that_ miracle had come to pass, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It felt amazing to be able to settle herself on the couch with her laptop, nothing to worry about or do for once. Her Tumblr dash was flooded with posts about those timers - mostly memes and selfies, along with the odd anti-timer SJW rant - and even though she'd blacklisted it ages ago, enough of the people she followed didn't tag their shit that it was still annoying.

She caught a glimpse of a post from someone she had recently followed (acabeca), which contained what looked like a rant, all but the first paragraph of it under a read-more. Curiosity got the better of her, and she clicked. It didn't take long for her to realize it was about those timers again, but the style of the blogger's writing - full of run-on sentences, swear words, and awkward metaphors - was funny nonetheless. Evidently, she had gotten a timer installed, only for it to flash all zeroes. From what Luisa understood, that seemed to defeat the purpose altogether.

She couldn't help herself: she sent acabeca an ask.  
 

**00:00**

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. There was no work to do, and Beca's dash was dead. The clock seemed determined to move as slowly as possible in the countdown to the end of her shift, and she cursed it silently with each refresh. This happened about five more times before a "1" appeared over the envelope in the header. Beca sat bolt upright in her eagerness to click on it and see what her savior from death-by-boredom had to say.

 

> **kommiissar asked:**
> 
> you're probably better off without it. date who you want. fuck that soulmate nonsense.

Beca looked at her wrist, still zeroes, and felt a righteous anger rise up within her. kommiissar was right! She didn't need some stupid clock to tell her when she was allowed to fall in love. People managed just fine without timers before they were invented. Back straight and no longer bored out of her skull, she typed up a reply.

 

> damn right!! fuck it. it's stupid-looking anyway, like someone stuck a busted alarm clock in my skin. thanks. :D

She hit "answer privately" and after a moment's hesitation, decided to check out kommiissar's blog. It didn't seem to have a unifying theme; rather, it seemed like she just reblogged stuff she liked or felt strongly about. There were a lot of posts about trans rights, feminism, and other causes peppered in with aesthetic posts and photos of scenery or cityscapes. Occasionally, there was an audio post of her singing covers of songs (her voice was _amazing_ \- a low, rich alto accented with something; German, maybe?) or a selfie (she was inhumanly beautiful, like some kind of goddess). Her tagging system was organized, though, which would make it easy for Beca when she went back later to listen to all the covers on her blog. She clicked "follow".

After what felt like forever, Beca clocked out and went home to curl up on her couch and order takeout. She deserved it, after the day she'd had. She was in her PJs and chomping on some orange chicken when another "1" popped up in her askbox. Excitement pooled in her stomach as she clicked it: it was from kommiissar.

 

> **kommiissar asked:**
> 
> hahaha, you're welcome. thanks for the follow, btw.

It was simple, but it made her grin. She replied as quickly as her fingers would let her.

 

> np! you have an amazing voice. i'd kill someone to get you into a studio.

Only after she sent that did she realize how absolutely creepy it sounded, so she switched tabs to kommiissar's blog and sent a follow-up ask.

 

> omg that sounded so weird i'm sorry!! i promise i'm not a murderer.

_Great move, Mitchell. Way to go.  
_

**\--:--**

From that simple, impulsive message, Luisa developed a steady friendship with acabeca - whose real name was Beca Mitchell - and over the course of a few weeks, they graduated from chatting via askbox to exchanging Skype usernames, and after that it was Snapchats and WhatsApps, and eventually they became Facebook friends. Neither of them used Facebook much, but it seemed the logical next step anyway. Every so often, Luisa teasingly asked Beca about the status of her timer, and every time the response was the same: nothing, nada, zilch, goose-eggs.

"Dude, what _time_ is it over there?" Beca asked. Luisa grinned at her laptop screen, which was currently full of Beca's face. They had a standing "Skype date" every other week, though it rarely occurred on the same day or at the same time, thanks to their respective busy schedules and the six-hour time difference. Nevertheless, it was something she looked forward to. She had friends, both in real life and online, but Beca was undeniably special. Quite possibly, she'd become her best friend after Pieter, whom she'd known since diapers.

"It's one in the morning," she replied with a chuckle. "I should probably be asleep, but you're keeping me awake, asshole." When Beca's eyes went wide, she laughed harder. Pieter was with his girlfriend, so she didn't have to worry about waking him.

"What? Why didn't you say something, we could've rescheduled! Damn it, I'm sorry."

"Calm down, Tiny Maus, I'm teasing you. Well, sort of. I _should_ be asleep, but it isn't your fault. I was too awake anyhow, so it wouldn't have mattered. Besides, I like our dates. They are always the highlight of my day. Now - tell me about this new band you have."

The hours passed by like seconds, and before she knew it, it was nearly 4:00. She was starting to doze off (this had happened before: one of them just falling asleep before ending the call) when five unexpected words hit her ears and woke her up entirely.

"I think I like you."

 _"Was?"_ She rubbed her eyes and blinked at Beca's face on her screen. The American's cheeks were red, and her eyes were averted. Butterflies took wing in the pit of Luisa's stomach, and her heartbeat picked up speed.

"I don't know, I just kind of came to the conclusion. I've been thinking about it a lot, about _you_ a lot, and it hit me that - I like you. As more than a friend. I know it's weird, and we haven't known each other _that_ long, but they say you know when you know, right?" A pause, pregnant with uncertainty. "I get it if you're creeped out. I mean, we live halfway across the world from each other and we've never even met in person, but I just had to say something or else I was gonna explode."

Luisa wasn't frequently rendered speechless, but just now, she couldn't think of a single word to say. Beca looked absolutely miserable, with her lips pursed tight, her face deep red, and what looked like tears welling up in her eyes. Swallowing thickly, Luisa shifted and sat up. It took her a minute or two to frame a decent reply, and eventually she cleared her throat.

"I'm not creeped out. I'm not sure how I feel right now, but creeped out is certainly not it, I promise." Beca looked up through her eyelashes (tears were definitely clinging to them) and smiled timidly. Luisa had never known Beca to be timid in the months they'd been friends. An idea blossomed in her mind then. It was impulsive, and it would take a bit of doing, but she thought she could manage it.

"Back when we first met, you said you wanted to get me into the studio. Do you still want that?" she said, while simultaneously looking up flights from Berlin to Georgia on her phone. It would bite a hole into her savings, but she so rarely did things simply because she _wanted_ to: so much of her life was organized, carefully planned, logical. She deserved this, and so did Beca, if it was also what _she_ wanted.

"Huh? Yeah, I'd still kill someone for that. Figuratively speaking, of course." Beca wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, sniffling quietly.

"Good. Would you be able to pick me up from the airport on Saturday?" She watched as realization dawned on Beca, and her expression morphed from confused to shocked and excited.

"Dude, seriously? You'd do that for me?"

"Not just for you. For me, too. As you said, we haven't met in person, and I think we should change that. So, will Saturday work for you?"  
 

**00:00**

Beca held up her cardboard sign with " **LUISA ZIEGLER** " written across it in bold, black Sharpie. She'd never picked someone up from the airport before, nor had she met an internet friend in person before, so she was doubly nervous. Her arms ached from holding the sign, but she didn't want to risk Luisa missing it. Hartsfield-Jackson was packed with people, the air flooded with noises and smells. All the while, her brain was buzzing with uncertainty. _What time is it? When does her plane land again? Should I move closer? What if she doesn't like me? Get it_ together _, Mitchell._

Thirty minutes passed, then forty-five, then an hour, and Beca finally spied a head of blonde hair attached to a familiar face. She called Luisa's name, and the German woman looked over her shoulder, grinning broadly when Beca wiggled the sign in the air.

"You're tall," was the first thing out of Beca's mouth when Luisa finally made her way through the constantly-moving crowd to get to her. It was probably the dumbest thing she could have said, but it was too late to take it back. Luisa laughed and swept her up into a hug anyway, so maybe it wasn't that bad.

"Nein, I think you are just short," she shot back. "Tiny Maus indeed. How's the timer?" Beca pulled a face and stuck out her tongue.

"Still nothing. See?" She flashed her wrist which, as ever, was still just four blinking zeroes. "It was such a waste of 200 bucks, seriously. I tried to get a refund, but apparently the contract I signed said they weren't liable for dysfunctional timers. Like, if it exploded and blew my hand off? Not their fault."

"That's why you should always read before you sign, ja?"

"Gee, thanks for the support. Too late now, though. Let's go get something to eat. I'm starving from waiting around for you all day."

When they sat down in the Café Intermezzo at the airport, it felt like almost a date. No matter how many times she reminded herself that they were just hanging out, like they'd done through Skype dozens of times, every time Luisa laughed at one of her jokes, or smiled at her, or looked at her through those insanely long lashes, Beca's heart fluttered stupidly in her chest. She tried not to make a fool of herself as she picked at her food and listened to Luisa relate the details of her flight.

"He wouldn't stop flirting with me, so I pretended I didn't speak English. At least I got the window seat." They laughed together, only for the conversation to lull, leaving them in a semi-awkward silence. Beca kept her eyes on her salad, unable to trust herself to speak without saying something stupid. Ever since she told Luisa about her feelings, she felt the need to pick her words carefully: the last thing she wanted was to say something that would make things weird between them. As she silently berated herself, warm fingers wrapped around her own, sending her heart into overdrive. Her head snapped up to see Luisa watching her, head tilted, brow furrowed.

"You are regretting what you told me," she guessed, with a light squeeze to Beca's hand. "Don't. I'm glad you did." Before she could say anything further, a high-pitched, melodic chime played through the air. Beca instinctively looked at her wrist, but it was still blinking zeroes. The chiming had come from a waitress, who dropped her tray of food in surprise when a customer approached her, his timer joining in with hers. Other patrons applauded as the waitress started to cry - though whether it was with joy at finding her soulmate, or embarrassment at dropping her tray was anyone's guess. Luisa and Beca's eyes met, and they burst out in simultaneous laughter, though there was nothing especially funny about what had just happened.

"Shall we go?" Luisa asked, nodding toward the door; Beca nodded. After a brief squabble over who would pay (they split the bill), they finally made their way out to the parking garage where Beca's car waited. They were well on their way when it occurred to Beca that she had no idea where she was supposed to be taking Luisa.

"Shit - um, I never even asked you where you were staying. I just started driving back to my apartment like the moron I am. I promise I'm not kidnapping you."

"Murderer, kidnapper - you've got quite the criminal record, Tiny Maus. I'd like to see your apartment. That is, if you don't mind?" Beca shook her head. Of course she didn't mind having the most beautiful woman on the planet in her apartment. Why would she mind that? Clearing her throat, she reached out and turned on the radio to once again prevent herself from saying something regrettable and embarrassing. (Of course, when the radio is too loud and starts blaring "The Thong Song", it's really a moot point.) She flailed a moment, red as a tomato, but settled when she realized that Luisa was _singing along_ . Not only that, but glancing sidelong at Beca and smirking. _Smirking_.

_Jesus H, Mitchell, get a grip on your life._

Then Luisa's hand was on her knee, inching upward, and Beca nearly swerved as her heart (and other things) kicked into overtime. Luisa just kept singing and smirking and inching.

"Holy shit, dude, let me pull over."

She barely had the car in park before they were on each other, their mouths joined and hands exploring. Luckily, the sun was setting quickly, and the road wasn't that busy - not that it would've mattered, with a beautiful woman touching her like this. Her car was too small for anything more than some making out and heavy petting, and she promised herself that when it was time to trade it in, she'd spring for something more conducive to backseat sex. She thanked whatever higher power might exist that her apartment was only ten minutes away. They practically raced one another up the steps, and once they were inside - after Beca fumbled a bit with her keys in her eagerness - they wasted no time in picking up where they left off.

"Schlafzimmer?"

"What?"

"Bedroom."

"Oh - yeah - back there."

Beca's bedroom was kind of a mess, with laundry piled on a chair in the corner and the bed unmade, but Luisa had her pinned before she could even consider being embarrassed. Her skin was so soft - her hands and mouth especially - and she smelled warmly of cinnamon. Everything about her was perfect.

"Luisa," she breathed when a warm, soft hand slipped beneath her t-shirt, cupping one breast over her bra and kneading slightly. The other hand found its way beneath her and deftly unclipped her bra. That was almost enough to make her come right there. Almost. It didn't take much longer before both of them were shirtless, Beca completely bare to the waist while Luisa still had her bra on. It was black and lacy, in contrast to Beca's lazy-day granny bra. When the two of them were heaped on the floor, it looked ridiculous, but Beca only cared for half a second before she was too busy with the fact that Luisa was half-naked and straddling her waist.  
 

**\--:--**

Luisa had not intended for things to go this far. She wasn't regretting it - God, no - but it hadn't been her intention whatsoever. She bowed over Beca's chest, exhaling softly before she pressed several soft kisses along her collarbone, between her breasts, and down her stomach until she reached the waistband of her jeans. She hooked one finger into a belt loop and tugged lightly.

"Do you want to?" she inquired, glancing up through her lashes. Beca nodded and answered with a breathy _uh-huh_. She licked her lips and unfastened the button, followed by a slow drag on the zipper. Beca's underwear didn't match her bra: they were light blue cotton boyshorts, which suited her somehow. When she tugged the jeans down over her hips and onto the floor, she noticed that the crotch was darker than the rest. She pressed the pads of her first two fingers against the wet patch, summoning a long sigh from her partner.

"Luisa, c'mon," Beca whined softly.

"Patience, Liebling," she purred in reply. Even so, she divested Beca of her underwear and gently pushed her thighs apart. The smaller woman was built differently than she - which was only to be expected, since Luisa had hers surgically constructed - but the sight warmed her to her core. Her fingers explored, taking the time to learn Beca's shape. She ran her thumb along Beca's crease, at first lightly, then again with a bit more pressure when it was met with a positive response. Luisa shifted so that she could tease Beca's breasts with her mouth while she continued to finger her, gradually gaining more confidence in her caresses. At one point, Beca reached with the intention of unbuttoning Luisa's jeans, but Luisa pushed her hand away and shook her head.

She learned quickly that Beca favored having her clit teased over nearly everything else, so much of Luisa's focus was directed there. She also learned that Beca was capable of multiple orgasms: she was able to wring three from her altogether, which was impressive for their first time. After the third, Beca shook her head when she went to continue, so she removed her hand. She contemplated the wetness on her fingers a moment, then licked them thoughtfully. That Beca's taste was sharp and slightly spicy was gratifying - and even more gratifying was the fact that Beca pulled her down for a kiss directly after.

"Wow," the American breathed when they parted. "That was… _wow_." Luisa chuckled as she stretched out beside her little mouse. Beca curled into her side, pillowing her head on her shoulder.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Why are you frowning?" Indeed, Beca's lips were curved downward, and the sight was worrying.

"How come you didn't want me to touch you?" The question was almost a whisper, as if she were ashamed to ask it. Luisa took a moment to turn her answer over in her mind, and dropped a kiss atop Beca's head.

"It's nothing you did wrong, I promise. I wished to focus on you this time. Sometimes it can be difficult for me to become aroused physically, and I did not want you to worry about it or think that I wasn't enjoying you. I did, every minute of it." She kissed Beca again, this time on the tip of her nose, which elicited a smile. "This will not be the last time, I hope, so we will have time enough to figure things out."

"Yeah, okay. Sounds good to me." They shared a long, lazy kiss, and Beca snuggled closer with a soft sigh. Luisa brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

"By the way…"

"Hm?"

"How's the timer?" Beca snorted, and cracked one eye open while lifting her hand up to show the empty blinking on her wrist.

"Still zeroes. But that's okay. I'm happy."


End file.
